


And as molten lead were the tears we shed

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locked away in her Northern tower prison, Cersei waits.  And Cersei dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And as molten lead were the tears we shed

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Oscar Wilde's "The Ballad of Reading Gaol".

They keep her in a tower, like a damsel from a song.  It is isolated and narrow, tall enough to pierce the thin layer of clouds that hangs in the icy air.  The one-time queen smirks to herself as she surveys the small room with the straw pallets on the floor.  It isn’t the same chamber- that Winterfell lies in pebbles beneath the dirt- but it bears a strong resemblance to the room atop the broken tower, the room where all the troubles began.  When she turns her head to stare out the window, she sometimes thinks she can see the Stark boy’s silhouette in the moments before the fall, tiny hands clinging to the stone, limbs tense and rigid.   
  
And when the light is too dim or too bright, when her eyes grow too heavy to open all the way, she’ll think she sees a glimpse of gold and green, a strong and calloused right hand reaching out to push the fragile shadow out of the casement.  Her body will tingle and her skin will break into goosepimples- she’ll feel the heat building between her eyes and between her legs- she’ll open her mouth to cry his name, only to find her throat too dry and her voice too weak.  
  
She splays herself on the floor in a star shape, pressing her bare arms and legs to the cold flagstones, trying and failing to soothe the painful burning in her blood.  
  
 **.  
**  
He comes to her in the harsh light of late afternoon.  She frowns at the sight of deep wrinkles furrowing his brow, worry lines forming around the corners of his mouth- _do I look that old, too?_   She hasn’t seen her own reflection in days, even weeks, but her jaw clenches as she realizes that she knows the answer well enough.  
  
Cersei Lannister rises from the cold stones of the floor, pulling her posture erect and narrowing her eyes in her brother’s direction.  She stands still and quiet.  Waiting.  
  
Jaime opens his mouth to speak, then halts.  Another false start, then silence.  A third time, and he drops his gaze to the floor, even as she continues to glare.  
  
There is nothing to say.  He knows it, she knows it.    
  
She lets him close the gap between them, his left arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her stiff body until she falls into his shoulder.    
  
(He keeps the right arm tucked behind his back, the false hand out of her sight.)  
  
His heart pounds in her ear, thrumming hard against her temple.  The volume and pressure hurts her head, and she turns her face upward.  
  
Jaime’s lips are dry against her own, and she finds herself reminded of the crunch of fallen leaves, dead beneath her feet.    
  
 **.**   
  
They fuck only once in her tower prison.  He takes her from behind, her knees pressing hard into the straw pallet.  She knows that he chooses this position to avoid looking into her eyes, and she thinks for a moment to turn herself around, to force him to meet her gaze.  
  
When she fails to act on the impulse, she realizes with a cold squelch in her stomach that she’d just as soon keep away from his eyes, too.  
  
It’s all familiar- the weight of his body against her, the rhythm of his thrusts.  But the chasm that has formed between them gapes wider than ever, and for the first time, her twin’s cock does not feel like a part of her own self, but like a foreign object.  And without that sense of completion, the entire act becomes a mummery, a sad, mocking imitation of what used to be.    
  
She drops her hand between her legs and rubs herself until she peaks.  Her release comes not on an ecstatic sigh or gutteral moan, but on a scream through gritted teeth, a shriek of frustration and rage.    
  
Cersei hears the scream echoed behind her- at a lower pitch, but with the same anguish and anger.  
  
They can agree on that much.  
  
 **.**   
  
The tower window faces a barren little courtyard.  Cersei props her chin on the sill sometimes and watches the dead leaves blow around the brown grass and faded cobblestones, the bare branches of the trees bending beneath the harsh winter winds.    
  
The dismal patch of earth rarely sees any visitors.  Therefore, the arrival of the Queen in the North and her Lord Commander piques Cersei’s interest immediately.  
  
Sansa Stark stands straight and tall, her shoulders and neck swathed in ermine, her bright hair streaming down to the middle of her back.  Jaime walks a step behind her, clothed in the silver-and-white raiment of House Stark (Cersei’s lips twist at that, even when she catches a glimpse of gold and red in the lion pendant that hangs around Jaime’s neck).    
  
They come to a halt in front of a gnarled oak tree.  Jaime leans forward to say something to the girl, and she reaches a gloved hand out to touch his right arm, the one that ends in a stump.  They exchange a few more words...Sansa’s hand tightens around Jaime’s elbow...Jaime uses his left hand to smooth a lock of hair behind her ear...she slides her hand down to rub his wrist, then up to wrap around his bicep...  
  
She smiles.  And he smiles back.  
  
Cersei turns away from the window and braces her back against the cold stone wall.  She slides down, inch by inch, until she lands on the floor.  Thin arms wrap around her knees, and she pulls her body into itself.  She feels the maw inside her growing wider, wider by the second, and she hopes that holding herself tight will keep her pieces from coming apart and spilling into the ravine.  
  
.  
  
In her sweetest dreams, she finds herself in Jaime’s body, looking out at the world through his eyes.  It has always been so; in her mind’s secret kingdom, she walks in the body that should have been hers, defying the cruel jape played on her by nature and the gods.    
  
Tonight, the cock that by all rights belongs to her presses hard against her belly, and she opens Jaime’s eyes to look at the figure lying below.  
  
Sansa reclines upon the linens, naked and glorious, skin whiter than milk and hair redder than blood.  A light tinge of pink illuminates the apples of her cheeks, and her eyes glitter like shards of glass reflecting the cold winter sky.    
  
Cersei reaches down with her right hand, only to discover that no such hand exists.     
  
(Cruel, cruel...the Jaime of her dreams should be always whole, ever perfect...)  
  
The radiant young queen reaches for Jaime’s left hand, drawing the fingers into her warm, wet mouth and sucking with surprising force.  
  
Cersei feels the pulsing between her legs, the tightening of the sac beneath the stiff, red member.  She pulls his hand away from Sansa’s mouth and guides the cock into the girl’s slick, tight cunt.  
  
Sansa exhales in a fluttering breath, and Cersei’s heart clenches when she sighs, “Jaime.”  
  
She thrusts, the rhythm hard and punishing, but Sansa never cries out in pain or fear.  Only gasps of ecstasy, only the name again and again- “Jaime.  Jaime.”  
  
Cersei winches Jaime’s eyes shut.  A twist of the stomach, a pounding of the heart when Sansa’s voice shifts into Cersei’s own, still sighing her twin’s name- she opens the eyes just a sliver, just enough to see the red hair turn to gold, then back again.    
  
She wakes alone in the dark, wetness pooling between her legs and trickling down the slope of her cheek.    
  



End file.
